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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27485728">Adjusting The Focus</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabyStepsAreStillSteps/pseuds/BabyStepsAreStillSteps'>BabyStepsAreStillSteps</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Because what does the public think of him?, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Just like the rest of him, Sherlock on the telly, This’ll go great..., Well it’ll go, but we love him anyway, great or otherwise, here they come, his public reputation is a mess, public get ready</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:48:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,872</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27485728</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabyStepsAreStillSteps/pseuds/BabyStepsAreStillSteps</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In the history of the universe, has there ever been such a bad idea as asking Sherlock Holmes to do an interview on national television?</p><p>If you were to ask John Watson, he would say there certainly hasn’t been. Greg would have to disagree though, seeing as it was his idea in the first place.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Greg Lestrade &amp; John Watson, Sherlock Holmes &amp; Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes &amp; John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Lights,</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Summer_Meadows/gifts">Summer_Meadows</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>John took a bracing breath before he swung the door to Lestrade's office open. He had heard Sherlock and Greg arguing from across the room. The other yarders kept sending speculative looks at the door, clearly curious about what was being discussed.</p><p> </p><p>Lestrade's office was odd. It was sound proofed enough that the specific words were muffled and not understandable, but it didn't actually do much to block the noise itself. The result was a very public argument that no one quite knew the subject of.</p><p> </p><p>Both men stopped arguing when he turned the knob, looking to see who had dared to barge in during their fight. When they saw it was John, they picked up where they left off, and John turned to shut the door, making a face at Sally through the blinds.</p><p> </p><p>She smiled at him, a look that was half reassurance and half pity. He grimaced back before he turned to the arguing pair.</p><p> </p><p>"No," Sherlock said, sure and unyielding.</p><p> </p><p>"Come on, Sherlock," Greg whined. He seemed to have switched tactics, recognizing that his shouting earlier had gotten him nowhere.</p><p> </p><p>"No," Sherlock said again, just as firmly. “There is too much data, Detective Inspector.”</p><p> </p><p>"Please, Sherlock?” Greg wheedled. “I'm begging you here, please?”</p><p> </p><p>"Hold on,” John cut in, raising a hand to catch their attention. “What's this about? What are you begging him to do?”</p><p> </p><p>"I need him to do an interview.” Greg said, sounding vaguely unhappy about the statement.</p><p> </p><p>"Like a police interview?" John asked, nonplussed. He and Sherlock were called in to give police interviews at least once a month, why would that suddenly be a problem?</p><p> </p><p>Greg rubbed the bridge of his nose. "No, like a tv interview."</p><p> </p><p>A tv interview? <em>Sherlock</em> on a tv interview? <em>What</em>?</p><p> </p><p>"No," John said, leaning back as if he could physically distance himself from the idea.</p><p> </p><p>Sherlock gestured at him with a vindicated smile. Apparently John had been the tie breaker.</p><p> </p><p>Greg spared Sherlock a sour look for his dramatics, then focused his serious gaze on John.</p><p> </p><p>"John, please,” he said, a distinct note of pleading in his voice “Sherlock's public reputation has been a roller-coaster. He was unknown, he was known and worshiped, he was a fraud and dead, he was alive and a druggie, he was alive and not a druggie, the public doesn’t know anything about him except for what's in print or speculation.”</p><p> </p><p>He ran a tired hand through his hair, looking at both of them.</p><p> </p><p>"My superiors are afraid that if this continues, his word and evidence will be inadmissible in court,” he admitted heavily. “We need this interview because we need to convince people he is the expert he claims he is.”</p><p> </p><p>That made... an unfortunate amount of sense. But, Jesus, Sherlock on a tv interview? <em>Jesus</em>.</p><p> </p><p>John took a deep breath as he thought about it.</p><p> </p><p>“If he does choose to do this, there will be conditions,” John stated firmly, letting a little of his army Captain voice slip into his tone.</p><p> </p><p>Greg smiled, relieved that John at least might be relenting.</p><p> </p><p>"Yes, yes, of course there would be,” he agreed. “Let me hear them."</p><p> </p><p>Sherlock was tense, watching the back and forth, but stayed silent.</p><p> </p><p>“Sherlock gets a choice of interviewer,” John said, less a request than a stated demand. “At least three options, you don't get to shove him up there with just anyone.”</p><p> </p><p>Some of the tension left Sherlock's shoulders as he realized that John's conditions would be about making him more comfortable.</p><p> </p><p>John internally rolled his eyes. Of course they were, what else would he have to argue about?</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, alright,” Greg said slowly, nodding as he thought about it. “That's fair, we can do that. Three options, no problem.”</p><p> </p><p>"It can't be a live interview," John clarified seriously.</p><p> </p><p>"Agreed," Greg nodded again, more emphatically, and John nodded his approval.</p><p> </p><p>"The number of viewers doesn’t matter,” John told him, “but the three options have to have the smallest live studio audience possible.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s... that’s a good idea actually,” Greg said, becoming more sure by the word. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”</p><p> </p><p>“Also, you have to pick the nice interviewers,” John insisted. “The ones that aren't trying to take a mickey out of their guests. Has to be one of the nice ones.”</p><p> </p><p>“John,” Greg sighed, a tinge of annoyance making its way into his tired tone. “I'm not talking about throwing him to the wolves, here. We just need to get him in front of a camera.</p><p> </p><p>If he talks to someone for half an hour it will be obvious to everyone that watches it that he's brilliant. He'll probably only need five minutes to convince people he's the real deal, but interview slots don't run that short."</p><p> </p><p>John nodded his reluctant acceptance of that point.</p><p> </p><p>"You do interviews a lot," John said, studying Lestrade. "Well, press conferences, but that's kind of the same thing. Will you coach him on what they'll probably ask him and what he should do?"</p><p> </p><p>"Of course,” Greg said, the exasperation back in his voice. “Like I said, I'm not trying to throw him to the wolves, I just want him to still be able to work cases with us."</p><p> </p><p>John nodded. He knew Greg wasn’t trying to cause trouble, but still... this was Sherlock, and as brilliant as he was, he still needed his best friend to help him out on the people side of things.</p><p> </p><p>"Ok, last one from my end then,” John conceded. “I want to be able to be in the back stage area. It would be even better if I could be where he can see me from the stage."</p><p> </p><p>"Ok," Greg agreed slowly, thinking over the logistics. “I think that should be doable.”</p><p> </p><p>"Could he come on stage with me?" Sherlock asked in a quiet voice, an unexpected note of vulnerability in his tone.</p><p> </p><p>They both turned to him, and John really looked at him for the first time since he came into the office.</p><p> </p><p>His shoulders were hunched in slightly, giving the impression that he would like to cross his arms, but was barely resisting the urge.</p><p> </p><p>His head was pulled down, almost burying his chin in his scarf, but perhaps the most telling were his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Sherlock's eyes had always been the most emotionally honest part of him. It had taken several months for John to catch on, but once he understood the cipher, it was like Sherlock was wearing a mood ring he couldn't take off.</p><p> </p><p>Even when Sherlock's words, or his body language, or his actions proclaimed he was feeling one emotion, John could always count on his eyes to tell the truth.</p><p> </p><p>Looking at them now, John could easily read what Sherlock had been trying to hide behind righteous anger.</p><p> </p><p>Sherlock always claimed he was unaffected by others' opinion of him, but the ferocity with which he avoided public situations told a different story. That and the fact that no one liked being made fun of, especially not on public television.</p><p> </p><p>John could see the exact moment that Greg realized that Sherlock wasn't being difficult because he felt like being troublesome, but because he was nervous. Greg's whole demeanor changed, becoming softer and more comforting in equal measure.</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, yeah, Sherlock, of course John could come on stage with you." He cast a quick glance in John's direction. "If it's ok with him, of course.”</p><p> </p><p>"’Course it is,” John said, holding Sherlock’s gaze so his friend could see how serious he was about his statement. “If you want me up there, of course I'll be there."</p><p> </p><p>“Sherlock,” Greg asked, less demanding than before, “will you do it?”</p><p> </p><p>Sherlock’s gaze flicked to John for a brief second before he gave a slow and exceedingly hesitant nod.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I’m not British, so please excuse any mistakes in ‘British-isms’!</p><p>Thank you for reading, I’d love to hear what you think!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Camera,</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much for the kudos and comment!!!! Here’s the interview, I hope it lives up to expectations! </p><p>As a side note, I freakin love Mary, so this is a slight AU where she and John still live in 221 B Baker St. with Sherlock, they’re just also married.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>John tapped his fingers against his leg as he stood in the doorway of the studio, waiting to be announced.</p><p> </p><p>Greg had done well, he’d found one with no studio audience, but a fair viewer following, and less than a week later, John stood next to Sherlock, waiting for the interview to start.</p><p> </p><p>John had already forgotten the name of the interviewer, but they’d do introductions when they got started, so he wasn’t too worried.</p><p> </p><p>He walked in on his cue and shook her hand and then as Sherlock stepped forward to do the same he let his eyes wander over the room itself.</p><p> </p><p>There was no studio audience, thank God, but there were three cameramen discreetly around the room. A chair on the other side of the couch he and Sherlock had been directed to sit on, which was clearly the interviewer’s, and a nice table between them with a stack of tea cups and saucers and a large steaming pot of tea.</p><p> </p><p>Excellent.</p><p> </p><p>“Shall we sit?” the interviewer asked, breaking through John’s musings. He had completely missed her name. Maybe Sherlock wasn’t the only one they needed to worry about in this interview...</p><p> </p><p>The woman smiled warmly at them as they sat down, pulling three tea saucers closer to herself to set the neatly arranged teacups on, pouring three steaming cups of tea with her right hand as she deftly opened the clasp on the decorative box sitting on the table to her left.</p><p> </p><p>She took out three napkins, gestured toward the cream and sugar already set out, and pushed their tea cups closer, settling back in her seat with her own as she started the interview.</p><p> </p><p>“So, Mr. Holmes, you’re a detective?” she asked with a note of friendly curiosity in her tone and a welcoming smile.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Sherlock confirmed, picking up the offered tea cup and taking a sip.</p><p> </p><p>“Could we have a demonstration of your deductions?” she asked, sounding honestly excited by the prospect.</p><p> </p><p>"On you?" Sherlock asked, setting his tea back down and sitting up straighter in his chair, leaning forward slightly with an eager spark in his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>"Sherlock, no," John said firmly, setting his tea back down as well, and envisioning the catastrophe that would be the rest of the interview if his friend deduced the interviewer herself.</p><p> </p><p>"She did ask,” Sherlock pointed out, his intelligent eyes studiously taking in all of the details she presented to him.</p><p> </p><p>"It's true, I did ask." she said, sounding bemused by the brewing argument. "I don't know why that's so terrible, but he's right, I did ask."</p><p> </p><p>John leaned toward his partner, wishing there was a way he could mutter something to him without the microphones picking it up.</p><p> </p><p>"Sherlock,” he said in a pointed undertone. “I thought we agreed we'd get at least halfway through the interview before you caused a complete breakdown of civil human communication.”</p><p> </p><p>Sherlock spared him a glance before he returned his gaze to his new target.</p><p> </p><p>"That was before she asked for an example,” Sherlock informed him, unrepentant and undeterred by the implied reprimand.</p><p> </p><p>“You did come on the show to demonstrate,” she reminded them both reasonably, trying not to laugh at their bickering.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” John admitted in resignation, recognizing his oncoming defeat, “but I was hoping it would be the end of the interview, not the beginning.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, it will give us something to talk about,” she pointed out with a teasing grin.</p><p> </p><p>John sighed and slumped back in his seat, waving a hand in surrender.</p><p> </p><p>“Just remember, you did ask,” he reminded her.</p><p> </p><p>"Excellent," Sherlock grinned, taking that as the permission it was. "Let's see, ma'am…”</p><p> </p><p>He stared at her for several long seconds, his eyes flicking to various features.</p><p> </p><p>"What are you doing?" she asked, amusement evident.</p><p> </p><p>"Gathering,” he answered distractedly, head cocked as he stared at her sleeve.</p><p> </p><p>"Gathering what?" she chuckled.</p><p> </p><p>"Data," Sherlock said, now staring at her right shoe. “Shh.”</p><p> </p><p>The interviewer looked bemused as John face palmed next to him.</p><p> </p><p>"Hmm, alright,” Sherlock said, the intensity of his gaze lessening slightly as he turned his attention to the presentation of his findings. “Thank you, ma'am. You were born right handed, but you are now near ambidextrous. You took ballet from an early age, but quit around your fourteenth birthday.</p><p> </p><p>You've recently begun a diet," he cocked his head, studying her. "Around two weeks or so, give or take three days. You're trying to lose weight, but not because your husband wants you to. He hadn't even mentioned it, you've made that choice on your own.”</p><p> </p><p>She blinked at him in surprise, but he plowed on, continuing his list of deductions as John sunk lower in his seat.</p><p> </p><p>“You are married, happily. Extremely happily, you've beaten the statistic and are still actively in love with your husband even fifteen years after your marriage. You're hiding something from him, though.”</p><p> </p><p>Sherlock cocked his head again, studying her, and John went tense beside him.</p><p> </p><p>‘Please don't reveal a past affair on national television,’ John thought as loudly as he could, hoping he could broadcast it to Sherlock's brain before he made the statement out loud.</p><p> </p><p>"A puppy," Sherlock said decisively.</p><p> </p><p>A puppy? Well, that wasn't what John was expecting.</p><p> </p><p>“A puppy,” Sherlock repeated. “Golden retriever, nine weeks old.”</p><p> </p><p>“That is incredible!” the interviewer broke in, apparently unable to stay silent any longer. “It's my anniversary today, fifteen years exactly. I'm giving my husband a new puppy for his present. How on Earth did you know?"</p><p> </p><p>“You’ve brushed the hairs off yourself with great care,” Sherlock told her, “greater than it calls for to be socially presentable. You did well on the outside of your clothing, but missed the ones on the inside. There, and there," he pointed to the inside of her left sleeve, “you see?</p><p> </p><p>The camera wouldn't be aware of golden hairs that small, but you went through the effort anyway, you're hiding the dog. Children are not so observant as to notice such things, and besides that, you don’t currently have any, so it must be someone else you’re living with, hiding it from your husband, then.</p><p> </p><p>The hairs are thicker and less dense than an adult dog's fur would be, so puppy. There are hairs on your sleeve that are one point twenty seven centimeters long. On average, golden retrievers don't have fur that long until they are at least nine weeks old.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” she blinked. “How did you know about the ballet?”</p><p> </p><p>“Your feet,” he said, gesturing toward them. “When you stand, your feet point slightly outwards. Most ballet positions require the ballerina's toes to point outwards. People who start at a young age stand with their toes outward even decades after they have quit.</p><p> </p><p>In addition, when you are walking, with your first step you land ball of foot then heel, rather than the opposite. This is another common trait in dancers who are trained to stay on their toes at all times in the studio.</p><p> </p><p>You stayed in dance long enough for it to permanently impact how you walk and stand, but your feet do not bear the slight development differences of ballerinas who place their entire body weight directly on their toes.</p><p> </p><p>In Harrow, which your accent tells me you are from, the general ballet class advances to pointe shoes when the student turns fourteen, as doctors have declared their bodies are mostly done growing and there is no longer a danger of permanent damage. Therefore, you started young, but quit before you were fourteen.”</p><p> </p><p>“You're right,” she said in amazement. “I started when I was three, stopped when I was thirteen and a half.</p><p> </p><p>How did you know about the recent diet? You're right, I started two weeks from yesterday.”</p><p> </p><p>“Your chin and cheekbones are well defined, even without make up, but your clothing only fits slightly looser than usual, as shown by the general wear patterns.</p><p> </p><p>These clothes are not new, they are at least two years old, so it is not that you've bought them recently for an ongoing diet.</p><p> </p><p>When losing weight, the first place it is noticeable is in the face. There aren't as many areas of fat storage, so it is more immediately apparent when it is reduced.</p><p> </p><p>It takes two weeks for there to be a noticeable change, and as previously mentioned, your face is thin, but your clothes are only slightly looser. Therefore, two weeks, plus or minus three days to take into account human body fluctuations.”</p><p> </p><p>“How did you know my husband has never mentioned anything about my weight?” she asked curiously.</p><p> </p><p>“You still move with confidence and maintain your posture,” he said, waving a hand that encompassed her whole body. “People who are self-conscious about their weight tend to try to make themselves smaller, curling their shoulders in, slumping in their seat, but you sit tall.</p><p> </p><p>Therefore, this is something that you believe you see, not something that you believe everyone around you sees.</p><p> </p><p>As stated previously, your husband matters to you, his opinion would hold weight. If he pointed it out, you would be trying harder, but from the scrape of chocolate under the nail of your left index finger, I see that you still allow yourself limited dessert. Cutting back, rather than cutting out then.</p><p> </p><p>Conclusion, he has not said anything about your previous weight. Quite rightfully, I'd say, you are far from overweight. You merely suffer from the society we live in, and the absurd standards set.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh... Thank you. How did you know about me being nearly ambidextrous but born right handed?”</p><p> </p><p>“You still pick things up with your right hand and when doing things with both hands, you delegate the most important or the most intricate to your right hand, such as when you poured tea earlier while simultaneously taking napkins from the drawer.</p><p> </p><p>Therefore, right handed from birth. If you were truly ambidextrous, you would pick things up with the hand most convenient, but you still choose your right when given a choice, like when you reached across the table to pick up the saucer plate with your right hand.</p><p> </p><p>You poured the tea with your right, because it is the task that requires more care, but your left hand could unlatch the drawer's clasp and re-clasp it with ease, therefore, nearly ambidextrous, but not quite.”</p><p> </p><p>"That's brilliant,” she breathed. “That was amazing, Mr. Holmes.”</p><p> </p><p>John snorted.</p><p> </p><p>“That's not what people normally say," he said, grinning at Sherlock, who smiled back, catching the reference.</p><p> </p><p>"What do people normally say?" the interviewer asked, unintentionally following the script.</p><p> </p><p>"Piss off," Sherlock grinned, bright and real.</p><p> </p><p>John was glad they had coaxed out one of Sherlock's smiles. They completely transformed his face. It was difficult to not like the man when he was smiling at you, it had an oddly infectious quality. Maybe it was because he didn't do it much, or maybe it was the way his eyes lit up, sparkling with happiness that tempered the harder edge of his deductions.</p><p> </p><p>The interviewer seemed to agree, smiling widely at Sherlock's response.</p><p> </p><p>“Then most people are missing out," she told him.</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t a question, but John nodded decisively in agreement. For all of the aggravation Sherlock caused, and there was a lot, he was more than worth it in the end.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, they are,” John agreed. “The problem isn’t that he is cruel or spiteful, the problem is that he is so very honest, to the degree that most people wish he weren’t. But that’s their loss.”</p><p> </p><p>John glanced at his friend with a smile, his grin growing when he saw the fond look Sherlock was sending him.</p><p> </p><p>“I’d say,” the interviewer agreed. “Well, now that you know my life story, we should hear some about yours.”</p><p> </p><p>"Must we?" Sherlock asked reluctantly.</p><p> </p><p>John flicked him on the hand.</p><p> </p><p>"Yes," he told Sherlock firmly, who looked put-upon, but allowed the interviewer to continue.</p><p> </p><p>"So your deductions, do you have to try to do them or do they come naturally?"</p><p> </p><p>"I have worked for many years to amass the knowledge necessary to draw conclusions from my surroundings,” Sherlock told her seriously, “but the connections themselves come automatically."</p><p> </p><p>"Sometimes his deductions surprise everyone in the room, including himself,” John added with an impish grin.</p><p> </p><p>"Yes, well,” Sherlock shrugged, looking slightly embarrassed, “sometimes I begin to explain them and there is one more deduction than I expected."</p><p> </p><p>"That's fascinating." she commented, looking utterly enthralled in his explanations.</p><p> </p><p>Sherlock relaxed incrementally at the friendly response. She really was good at her job. John made a mental note that he should send her a gift basket or something.</p><p> </p><p>“So you two met when you lived together?” she asked, bringing John back to the interview.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, flatmates,“ Sherlock nodded his confirmation.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, that’s actually what started this whole thing,” John smiled ruefully. “I came home from Afghanistan and couldn’t afford London rent on a soldier’s stipend, but I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. I told a friend I was looking for a flatmate and he introduced the two of us. As time went on I started going to cases with Sherlock, and the rest is history.”</p><p> </p><p>Sherlock snorted, shooting John an amused look.</p><p> </p><p>“As time went on?” he asked, eyes bright. “We had moved in less than four hours before you accompanied me to a crime scene.”</p><p> </p><p>“Is four hours a length of time?” John asked pointedly, refusing to admit defeat. “Then time went on, did it not?”</p><p> </p><p>“Hmm,” Sherlock considered. “Yes, I suppose it tends to do that.”</p><p> </p><p>“So it all started as a flat mate arrangement,” the interviewer said, refocusing them, “but as I understand it, you are married Dr. Watson," she said, gesturing to his ring</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, I am,” John said, a smile growing on his face as he thought about his wife. “I have the honor of being married to an incredible woman named Mary.”</p><p> </p><p>"She's brilliant," Sherlock agreed. "I'm her favorite.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?” John demanded, his outrage temporarily distracting him from the interview. “You are not, she married me!”</p><p> </p><p>Sherlock quirked a smug grin, clearly enjoying having provoked a reaction out of John.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, well, she hadn't met me yet,” Sherlock shrugged with pointed nonchalance.</p><p> </p><p>“She had,” John shot back, a grin of his own starting to grow on his face at the ridiculousness of Sherlock’s argument. “If you recall, you interrupted my proposal, which just happened to be before she said the big ‘I do’.”</p><p> </p><p>Sherlock made a face, clearly confirming that he couldn't argue John's point, but that he didn't agree with it either.</p><p> </p><p>John turned back to the interviewer, more than a little smug.</p><p> </p><p>"He is not her favorite,” he insisted, “but they get on like a house on fire. Which is good. He's my best friend, so anyone l ended up with would have to get on with him."</p><p> </p><p>Sherlock snorted next to him and John gave him an affectionate shove, grinning lightly.</p><p> </p><p>"Shut it, you,” he commanded in fond reproof.</p><p> </p><p>"Did past girlfriends not get along with him?" the interviewer asked, grinning eagerly at the opening for more backstory.</p><p> </p><p>"No, no they really didn't,” John said, unable to keep the resigned exasperation out of his voice. “Well, most did fine until he took them on cases. Like my first girlfriend after I moved in with this twat. She was great, real quality woman, but then Sherlock went and took her on a case -“</p><p> </p><p>"I did not take her on a case," Sherlock interrupted, sounding incredibly insulted that John would suggest such a thing. "You took her on a case!"</p><p> </p><p>John turned in his seat to stare at him, looking just as insulted that Sherlock would deny such a thing.</p><p> </p><p>"No, no, Sherlock, <em>I</em> tried to go to a circus!"</p><p> </p><p>"That was hosted by an international smuggling ring!" Sherlock argued indignantly.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I didn't know that at the time!” John refuted, just as indignantly. “Do you know who did know that? The man who called back and added another ticket to <em>my</em> reservation!”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, if you were there anyway, we might as well solve it,” Sherlock reasoned, not at all chastised. “Besides, that was not why Janine dumped you.”</p><p> </p><p>John rolled his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Sarah, Sherlock.”</p><p> </p><p>"Oh,” Sherlock said after a brief pause. “Right."</p><p> </p><p>"And what do you mean that wasn't why?” John demanded when the rest of Sherlock’s statement caught up with him. “We got kidnapped! She almost got shot with an arrow!"</p><p> </p><p>"Yes,” Sherlock agreed easily, “and then she went on three more dates with you, ergo, your breakup wasn't my fault."</p><p> </p><p>John sighed and rolled his eyes in exasperation for what had to have been the hundredth time since the day had started. It was amazing how often Sherlock inspired that reaction in him.</p><p> </p><p>“It was totally his fault,” he told the interviewer.</p><p> </p><p>"No,” Sherlock drawled beside him.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Anyway</em>, the point is, Sherlock would take the ones I was serious about on cases, most didn't do too well, understandably.”</p><p> </p><p>Sherlock made a face of disagreement.</p><p> </p><p>"I didn't so much take them on cases as much as they ended up there,” he clarified. “It's hardly as if I went to their houses, you were really the one who brought them."</p><p> </p><p>“You, tosser!” John turned to him in self-righteous outrage. “When you interrupt my date and drag us off on a case, that's you taking them! Anyway,” he turned back to the interviewer, “Mary is amazing. She's wonderful, and beautiful, and bloody brilliant, so of course when it's her turn, she did great. Practically solved the thing by herself."</p><p> </p><p>The interviewer looked to Sherlock to see if he would contest the last remark.</p><p> </p><p>He shrugged. "She is <em>brilliant</em>."</p><p> </p><p>"And she's fine with the cases and the investigating?" the interviewer asked them both, looking between them with a wide smile.</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, yeah.” John said emphatically. “She helps whenever she has time. She and Sherlock accidentally solved a case at our wedding reception, and she considers it to be a bonus that made the day even better."</p><p> </p><p>"You do yourself a discredit,” Sherlock scolded. “You helped as well."</p><p> </p><p>"Thanks," John grinned. "I still can't believe you forgot his room number."</p><p> </p><p>Sherlock’s fond smile fell into a scowl.</p><p> </p><p>“I have to delete something, John!"</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” John agreed with long suffering resignation. “I’ve heard.”</p><p> </p><p>“Delete it?” the interviewer asked, bringing their attention back to her.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Sherlock told her seriously. “A brain is like a computer, a hard drive. There is only so much room. I delete what is not important to make room.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” John grinned, “like -,” his mouth clicked shut with a grin when Sherlock shot him a glare.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, he deletes a lot of things I would consider important information,” John said instead, “like to pick up milk on his way home.”</p><p> </p><p>Sherlock rolled his eyes dramatically.</p><p> </p><p>“That was one time, John,” he said, exasperation evident, “and I had to make room for -,”</p><p> </p><p>“That was three times,” John interjected with a large smile. “This month.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I haven’t deleted the time when I brought you food and you punched me in the nose, so maybe it’s your own fault,” Sherlock shot back with a cheeky grin.</p><p> </p><p>The interviewer used John’s spluttering to cut in before he continued the argument.</p><p> </p><p>“You punched him for bringing you food?” she asked, eyes dancing in amusement.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” John told her firmly before he turned to his friend. “And technically, Sherlock, you didn’t actually bring food, it was just in a restaurant, so you’ll need a better excuse.”</p><p> </p><p> John smirked at the scowl Sherlock sent him and turned back to the avidly listening interviewer.</p><p> </p><p>“It was when he got back from his unplanned two year trip,” he explained to her and her face cleared in understanding.</p><p> </p><p>“So he came back and you punched him?” she asked, honest curiosity in her tone.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, well, I may not have handled it terribly well,” John admitted, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to push down the blush rising in his cheeks. “I might have broken his nose.”</p><p> </p><p>Sherlock laughed brightly.</p><p> </p><p>"You did not so much break it as try to obliterate it,” he said, sending John a fond smile, before returning his attention to the interviewer. “But it was nothing less than I deserved for allowing him to believe I was dead for two years.”</p><p> </p><p>“I had planned to keep this interview light,” the interviewer nodded, her expression becoming more serious, “but since it came up, why <em>did</em> you pretend to be dead?”</p><p> </p><p>Sherlock went tense, his mask of icy indifference coming back up to freeze over his face. John hated to see it, but this time he couldn't blame him. It still hurt to think about those two years, let alone talk about them.</p><p> </p><p>"The man who pretended to be Richard Brook's real name was James Moriarty,” Sherlock said, a slightly clinical tone to his voice that betrayed none of the seething anger John knew he still felt. “A consulting criminal, he called himself. He was brilliant as he was deranged. I had inadvertently crossed his path years earlier, solving several of the crimes he consulted on, and one he had committed.</p><p> </p><p>Richard Brook. In German, Reichenbach. The case that made my name. He found it amusing.</p><p> </p><p>His network was immense, spanning every continent. He was a spider in a web, a single twitch had rippling consequences.</p><p> </p><p>He consulted on the Reichenbach painting crime. When my name grew famous, he decided that he was the one who had given life to my legacy. He also decided he would be the one to kill it.</p><p> </p><p>The painting John and I found was of the Reichenbach Falls. He thought it only fitting that I did the same.</p><p> </p><p>The final confrontation came to a head on the roof of Bart's hospital. I deduced his game, but it was too late. He had decided my story would end with my fall, and he had several gunmen posted around London that would act if I did not.</p><p> </p><p>When he realized I could make him call off the gunmen, he shot himself in the head, dying rather than see his story incomplete.</p><p> </p><p>The initial fall wasn't enough. His web had to be dismantled before I could come back or it would all be for nothing. They had orders of what to do should Moriarty not make it off the roof, and his people were prepared to enact them if they heard the slightest hint I was alive.</p><p> </p><p>It took me two years, but I dismantled his web and then I came back.”</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah," John said, grinning at Sherlock and trying to recapture their earlier mood. "He strolled right into the restaurant where I was trying to propose to my girlfriend and said ‘Not dead, also, your mustache is stupid’.”</p><p> </p><p>The interviewer, who had been looking deeply sympathetic as Sherlock spoke, snorted at John's addition.</p><p> </p><p>"Wait, really?” she asked, smiling widely at Sherlock. "You were gone for two years, he thought you were <em>dead</em>, and you just stroll into the restaurant and proclaim his mustache was stupid?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yes,” Sherlock said simply, making John and the interviewer laugh.</p><p> </p><p>"That's amazing," she said, wiping her cheeks to clear away the tears her laughter had knocked free.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm glad you think so,” Sherlock chuckled. “John certainly didn't."</p><p> </p><p>Sherlock said it lightly, as a joke, but it still struck a chord in John.</p><p> </p><p>"It was amazing,” he told Sherlock earnestly, “I'm still glad every day that you're back, I was just.... also a tad angry when you first showed up."</p><p> </p><p>Sherlock smiled fondly, and John knew he understood what John had been trying to say.</p><p> </p><p>"I think your reaction was well earned,” Sherlock said, “and you shaved the mustache, so all in all, a positive experience."</p><p> </p><p> John’s expression darkened as he glared at his smirking friend.</p><p> </p><p>"I didn't shave it off because you said it was stupid," John insisted mulishly.</p><p> </p><p>"Hmmm," Sherlock hummed noncommittally. "Timing was a complete coincidence, then."</p><p> </p><p>"Right," John nodded decisively.</p><p> </p><p>"Well, Mary and I disagree, but alright," Sherlock shrugged in a tone of faux sincerity.</p><p> </p><p>John scowled, but Sherlock merely smirked back, completely unrepentant.</p><p> </p><p>John scowled harder with the same lack of results.</p><p> </p><p>“You two are a menace,” he groaned, dropping his scowl since it never seemed to do anything anyway.</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, come on,” Sherlock chided. “Someone has to keep you in trouble. Your life would be positively <em>dull</em> without us."</p><p> </p><p>"Well, you're not wrong there," John allowed fondly.</p><p> </p><p>"Gentlemen,” the interviewer interjected with a chuckle, “unfortunately our time is almost up, but I appreciate you making time to come on the show."</p><p> </p><p>Sherlock nodded, gathering his coat and scarf as he stood. "Thank you for having us, ma'am."</p><p> </p><p>"It was a pleasure," she said sincerely, standing to shake his hand. "Thank you for coming, you're really nothing like the newspapers made you sound."</p><p> </p><p>“Mmm,” Sherlock hummed an acknowledgement. “The price I pay for tipping my hand a few days too soon when going after powerful criminals with extensive influence in the news industry.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?” the interviewer asked, looking like she deeply regretted not asking about it in the interview.</p><p> </p><p>“We seem to be out of time, but you can read about it on John's blog, I'm sure it will go up soon,” he said, swinging on his coat in one fluid motion.</p><p> </p><p>“Sherlock, I'm not writing that one up, remember?” John prompted. “The government said I couldn't.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” Sherlock paused the motion of tying his scarf to consider that for a brief moment. “Right.”</p><p> </p><p>Turning back to the interviewer, he said, “Apparently that is not a story for another time. The problem has been taken care of, though, so there's nothing to worry about. The only damage done was to my reputation, which wasn't terribly great to begin with anyway.”</p><p> </p><p>John rolled his eyes as he moved forward to shake her hand.</p><p> </p><p>"Thank you, it was a pleasure to meet you, ma'am. If we’re ever on the show again, he’ll wear the hat.”</p><p> </p><p>“I will not,” Sherlock interjected severely.</p><p> </p><p>John grinned serenely as the interviewer tried to hide a chuckle behind her hand.</p><p> </p><p>“We’ll see,” John shrugged noncommittally.</p><p> </p><p>“What is it with that hat?” Sherlock complained indignantly. “It wasn’t even mine! I use a disguise <em>one time</em>, -”</p><p> </p><p>“Hold on, you do own a deer stalker, Sherlock,” John pointed out innocently, trying to contain his laughter at the withering glare Sherlock sent him.</p><p> </p><p>“I would not say I own it as much as I haven’t gotten around to burning it yet,” Sherlock argued mutinously. “Lestrade is not nearly as funny as he thinks he is.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, no, Sherlock,” John shook his head with a wide smile. “That present was hysterical. Lestrade is exactly as funny as he thinks he is, and you are out of your mind if you think there is a chance in hell Mary is going to let you burn that hat.”</p><p> </p><p>Sherlock’s scowl deepened.</p><p> </p><p>“Your wife is not the boss of me,” he informed John firmly.</p><p> </p><p>“My wife is the boss of everyone, and you know it.” John told him.</p><p> </p><p>Sherlock’s scowl darkened even further but he didn’t dispute the statement.</p><p> </p><p>John flashed another grin at the interviewer.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you for your time,” he said one more time before prodding a still scowling Sherlock off the stage.</p><p> </p><p>That had actually gone quite well, if he did say so himself. Perhaps it hadn’t been the worst mistake in <em>all</em> of history... not that he planned to admit that to Greg.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading, I'd love to hear what you think!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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